


third time's the charm

by cosmic_kate



Category: The 100 (TV), The 100 Series - Kass Morgan
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Smut, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, i wouldn't call it smut but i'm tagging it anyway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-10
Updated: 2017-02-10
Packaged: 2018-09-23 06:18:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9644114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmic_kate/pseuds/cosmic_kate
Summary: Prompt: 3 times Bellamy and Clarke are set up and the 1 time they aren't.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is for my girl Kelsi, who requested this like 84 years ago.

 

1.

When Clarke breaks up with Niylah, she spends two whole weeks on the couch in her pajamas, watching bad romance movies and licking Cheeto dust off her fingers. Her best friend, Raven, has had enough.

“That’s it, Griffin,” she says, barging into Clarke’s apartment, yanking her off the couch and dragging her to her room. “You are going out with me tonight.”

Clarke grunts.

“Enough,” Raven barks. “I don’t even know why you’re sulking. _You’re_ the one who dumped her.”

Clarke sticks her tongue out and Raven rolls her eyes.

“You’re going out with me tonight, and you’re going to get laid. I know a guy.” Raven says, ushering Clarke towards the bathroom.

“I don’t _need_ sex, Raven.”

“You _need_ to get that Cheez Wiz out of your hair.” Raven pushes Clarke into the shower, closes the door, and turns it on.

 

“That’s Bellamy,” Raven says when they get to the bar. “We hooked up after the Finn thing.”

Bellamy is…hot. He’s tall, with dark skin and perfectly mussed curls. Clarke’s eyes roam his body shamelessly as he approaches, taking in the thick cords of muscle in his forearms, the strong curve of his jaw.

He smirks when he catches her staring.

“Clarke, this is Bellamy. Bellamy, Clarke,” Raven says, gesturing wildly with her hands. “Have fun!” she says, and then she’s gone. Clarke glares at Raven’s swinging ponytail as she walks away.

“What are you drinking?” Bellamy asks, bringing her attention back to him, and his voice is deep and gravely, making her shiver a little.

Before, Clarke had been adamant that she didn’t need a hookup. Now, she could definitely go for getting laid.

“Captain and coke,” she says, taking a seat at one of the high-top tables.

Bellamy orders their drinks at the bar and then plops down across from her, taking a swig from his beer. Clarke can’t help but notice the stretch of his t-shirt over his broad shoulders and chest, the size of his hands, what they could do to her—she decides to cut to the chase.

“So,” she says, “what did Raven tell you?”

He quirks an eyebrow. “She just told me there was someone she wanted me to meet.”

Clarke furrows her brow. She feels guilty knowing that he might think this is a date, when she’s basically only here for a rebound. “That’s it?”

“Relax,” he says, rolling his eyes. “She told me everything.”

Somehow this makes her feel worse. “So what, Raven just pimps you out to all of her friends?”

Her cheeks burn red as soon at the words leave her mouth, but Bellamy chuckles. “I didn’t have enough storage space on my phone for Tinder, so I just use Raven.”

When Clarke laughs, he smiles.

“I’m kidding. This is the first time she’s set me up. Besides,” he adds, “how could I pass up on meeting the third point of the infamous Finn love triangle?”

Clarke groans and raises her glass in the air. “Present.”

“I think it’s cool. You find out your boyfriend has another girlfriend, you kick the boyfriend to the curb and become best friends with the other woman. You could probably sell that as a movie or something.”

Clarke tries to glare, but Bellamy’s grin is contagious, and she can’t stop the smile from spreading across her face.

 

When they get to his apartment, Bellamy wastes no time in crowding Clarke against the door and attaching his lips to her neck. A breathy moan escapes her lips, and she can feel his smile against the skin of her collarbone, followed by the gentle scrape of his teeth.

“You don’t waste any time,” Clarke says, trying and failing to keep her voice even as his mouth travels back up her neck and finds the sensitive spot behind her ear.

Bellamy’s laugh makes her stomach flip. “ _You_ didn’t waste any time groping me the whole ride here. I didn’t think we’d even make it inside.”

“Shut up,” she giggles, sealing her lips over his.

He sweeps his tongue across the seam of her lips, and _God,_ she wants him. She starts to walk them down the hallway in his apartment, not breaking the kiss, searching aimlessly for his bedroom. She tries to lead him through the first door, but he chuckles in between kisses.

“Bathroom,” he says, so she tries the next door. “Office,” he supplies.

By the time she gets to his bedroom, they’re both giggling.

Bellamy lets his fingers dance at the hem of her shirt in question, so Clarke peels it off herself, taking her bra with it. She sees his eyes darken as he takes in her pale skin, pupils blown wide.

“Your turn,” she says, voice low and sweet.

Bellamy peels off his shirt, but before she can ogle at him, he has her on her back on his bed, kissing a line down her neck, over her breasts, across her stomach. He stops when he gets to her hips, pausing to glance at her as he pops the button on her jeans.

She nods her head furiously, and he peels them off, along with her underwear, and before she can blink, he has his mouth on her.

Bellamy works her over slowly, only easing up once she falls over the edge, letting her ride it out. He kisses his way back up her body until she tugs him to her mouth, relishing in the taste of her on his tongue.

“Bellamy,” she whines against his mouth as she struggles to get his pants off.

He rolls himself off her and slips out of his jeans and briefs. “Patience is a virtue, Clarke,” he says, smirking, but Clarke has her own ideas about patience.

She tugs him back so he’s hovering over her, and before he can open his mouth to tease her or give her some sarcastic retort, she wraps her hand around him. He groans and thrusts into her hand, burying his face in her neck.

“Fuck, Clarke.”

“Patience is a virtue, Bellamy,” she mocks, lining him up with her entrance.

He pushes into her, and they both groan.

After, when they both lay sated and boneless in his bed, Bellamy gives Clarke a chaste kiss on the cheek.

“You can stay, if you want,” he says.

And she wants to. She really, really wants to.

But that’s not what this is. This is a hookup, she reminds herself. This is nothing more than a one night stand to get over her ex.

So she leaves.

The worst part is, she actually really likes Bellamy. He’d made her laugh at the bar, bought her a couple drinks, and didn’t let her beat him at darts. And the sex? It was great. It was _fun_.

But it was only a rebound, so when Clarke gets home that night, she falls asleep feeling light and satisfied, letting the heartbreak from Niylah slip from her mind while she tries to rid her brain of the memories of Bellamy.

 

 

Monty draws the line when Clarke brings home a cat.

“You need to get out more,” he tells her when she introduces him to Buttercup.

Clarke scoffs. “I get out plenty.”

It’s a lie. Clarke has been painfully single for almost two years, spending far too much time working at the hospital to possibly harbor a serious relationship.

“Clarke. I love you, and you’re a great roommate, but I can’t handle any more cats.”

“We have one cat.”

“Yesterday we had zero cats, and even that was pushing it.”

Clarke pouts, putting on her best puppy dog eyes. “Please, can we keep him? He’s so sweet, Monty.” She holds up the cat. “Look at this face!”

Monty rolls his eyes, and crosses his arms. “We can keep him.”

Clarke lights up, tackling her friend in a hug.

“On one condition,” Monty adds, still not hugging her back. He’s not a hugger. “You let me set you up with Nate’s roommate.” Clarke pulls away, but Monty doesn’t let her protest. “He’s a great guy, Clarke. He’s good looking, smart--” he glances at Buttercup. “--I’m pretty sure he likes cats.”

Monty’s face is stern, and she really wants to keep the cat, so she agrees. “Fine. But it’s for Buttercup.”

 

All Clarke knows about this blind date is that she’s supposed to be at the restaurant at 7:00 pm, and the reservation is under ‘Blake.’ Leave it to Monty to be unnecessarily vague.

She lets his name roll around in her mouth on her ride to the restaurant. _Blake_. It sounds like the name of some douchebag frat boy. If he shows up in golf shorts and boat shoes, she’s leaving.

She’s arrives early, eager to get the date over with so she can get back to watching reruns of _Grey’s Anatomy_ with Buttercup. She takes a deep breath, bracing herself, and she’s about to ask the hostess about the reservation when she sees him.

“Bellamy?”

He looks the same as she remembers, all stylishly messy hair and a smattering of freckles across his skin. He’s wearing a button down with the sleeves rolled up, and suddenly Clarke realizes her mouth is a little dry.

“Clarke, hey,” he says with a smile, shoving his phone back into his pocket.

“What are you doing here?”

“I uh—I actually have a date.” He rubs the back of his neck, almost like he’s nervous.

“Oh. Me too, actually,” Clarke says, deflating. She checks the clock on the wall—only 6:45. She’s got plenty of time to chat with Bellamy while she waits for Blake. “Blind date, actually.”

He laughs when she scrunches her nose in disgust. “Those are the worst,” he agrees, “but same here.” He’s still smiling at her like she’s the sun when the hostess walks over to them and says:

“Mr. Blake, your table is ready.”

Bellamy wipes the smile from his face and gives her a polite nod and says, “I’ll see you around, Clarke,” but he only makes it two steps before all of the information falls into place.

“Bellamy,” she blurts, grabbing his arm and spinning him around. The hostess only looks slightly concerned. “Bellamy Blake.”

Bellamy cocks his head at her, confused. “Yeah?”

Clarke can’t help but grin. “You’re my date, I think. You’re roommates with Nate, right?”

“ _You_ live with Monty?” he asks, and he’s smiling.

Clarke fucking beams.

The hostess glares at them. “Right this way.”

 

Dinner is great, really. Bellamy is just as fun as she remembers, just a little nerdier and a little more mature than he had been when they’d met in college. He teaches Latin at the local high school now, and it makes her smile how he talks about it, full of energy and passion.

“So what do you do?” he asks. “I remember you were in med-school when we met.”

“I’m doing my residency now,” she says, and there’s probably a rule about how much you should tell on a first date, but she’s feels like she already knows Bellamy, so screw the rules. “But I’ve done a couple of job interviews for some art galleries and I’ve been working on my portfolio.”

“What kind of art?” he asks, and it isn’t the standard _Why would you leave medicine for art don’t you know there’s no money in art?_ response and Clarke can’t help but breathe a sigh of relief.

“Mostly painting,” she says. “I never really liked medicine. I just did it because my mom did it and it was all I knew, I guess. I’ve always loved painting and…it just seemed right.”

Bellamy smiles. “Good for you. What are we doing if we aren’t doing what we love?”

 

Bellamy offers to walk her home, which is nice, and Clarke can’t help but notice that they both walk a little slower than usual.

“I have to ask,” he starts as they near her apartment. “Why did you leave that night?”

Clarke groans and hides her face behind her hands.

“I’m not judging, by the way, I just…I guess I read it differently,” he says, red faced, peeking at her out of the corner of his eye. “I had a lot of fun.”

“I had a lot of fun, too. But—I was fresh off a breakup. And I convinced myself that it had to be a one night stand.” Clarke bites her lip, and her voice goes quiet. “I wish I’d stayed, though.”

Bellamy smiles at her, casually throwing his arm around her shoulders as they round the corner toward her building. It feels more familiar than it should. “Me too,” he says. “But no hard feelings. We’re here now.”

He walks her to the front door of her building, and it takes all of her will power not to drag him inside and have her way with him. Instead, she plants a kiss on his cheek. They have time.

“I’ll text you,” she says as he walks away. She can see his smile even in the dark, big and bright and _because of her_.

“I’ll see you soon, Clarke.”

 

She _does_ mean to text him the next morning. She even has a whole message written out about how she had a great time, and is he free tomorrow for lunch? and her thumb is hovering over the button, seconds away from pressing send—that’s when she gets the call.

It’s an art gallery—her top pick for a job—and they’re offering her the position. Across the country. Starting this weekend.

So of course, she takes it.

Clarke squeals when she hangs up the phone, jumping up and down and not even caring about waking up the tenant below her.

It isn’t until she calms down and unlocks her phone to tell Wells that she remembers her text to Bellamy, and even through her high, she feels a little disappointed when she deletes the message instead.

 

 

Clarke spends almost two years working at a dead end graphic design job—one she thought was going to be her dream job—before she meets Lincoln.

Lincoln is a godsend.

Clarke thought that once she’d gotten her foot in the door at the new gallery, she’d be able to move up the ranks—maybe even have some of _her_ art featured. Yet, two years later, she’s still doing graphic design for their website.

Lincoln wants to open his own gallery, and he’s looking for a partner. Clarke immediately agrees.

It isn’t long after she meets Lincoln that she meets Octavia.

Octavia is a whirlwind—a passion and energy and a wildness about her that honestly leaves Clarke a little frightened after their first meeting. There’s a familiarity there, too, but she can’t put her finger on it.

 

At the grand opening of Clarke and Lincoln’s gallery, Octavia greets her with a fluke of champagne and a smile that Clarke knows means trouble.

“Clarke,” she says, voice sugary sweet. “You’re single, right?”

“Thanks for reminding me.” Clarke narrows her eyes. “What are you up to?”

Octavia drops the act when Lincoln slides up next to her, looping an arm around her shoulders. “What _are_ you up to? You’ve been scheming all night,” he says, but he drops an affectionate kiss on her temple anyway.

Octavia sighs. “Okay so—my brother just moved into town, and he’s like—painfully alone and hasn’t made any effort to go out and meet people so, naturally, I thought I would set him up with Clarke.”

“You’re really selling him to me, Octavia,” Clarke deadpans.

Lincoln just laughs. “He’s actually a good guy. I think you’d like him, Clarke.”

“Yeah,” Octavia agrees. “I just can’t say anything nice about him because he’s my brother.”

Before Clarke can say no, Octavia lights up and shouts, “Bell!”

Clarke turns around, and there he is, only a few feet away, looking at _her_ painting. Clarke feels her jaw drop. He’s handsome as ever, and she can’t believe she’s seeing him, after all this time, and it makes her stomach swoop.

When he sees her, his mouth hangs open too, and neither of them say anything when Octavia grabs his arm and drags him into their circle.

“Clarke, this is Bell,” Octavia says. “Bell, this is—“

“Clarke,” Bellamy interrupts, smile creeping across his features, and Octavia’s face drops.

“What? You know each other?”

“Bellamy,” Clarke says, and they have got to look insane, staring at each other, awestruck. Octavia nudges her in the ribs.

“We’ve…been on a few dates,” Bellamy says, still looking at Clarke.

“You’re kidding me,” Octavia says, flat. “I try to get you to meet new people and I set you up with the _one_ person in this goddammed town that you know?”

Clarke sees Lincoln elbow Octavia. “Shut up.”

She ignores them, and instead directs her attention to Bellamy. “Do you want to go on a walk?”

“Yeah,” he smiles. “I’d love to.”

 

Clarke doesn’t know how long they walk before she realizes they’re standing in front of her apartment. Bellamy walks her to the door, just like last time, but this time when he says goodnight, she pulls him back by his hand.

“If you think for one second that you’re going to leave me on this doorstep,” she says, pulling him close enough that they’re almost pressed together.

Bellamy’s laugh makes warmth spread through her chest.

He drops his forehead to hers, noses brushing, lips just a breath away. “You’re not on some mission to have a one night stand?”

She huffs a laugh. “No.”

“You’re not going to move across the country tomorrow?”

“No,” she breathes.

“Thank god,” he says, and then he’s kissing her. It’s soft and sweet and everything and Clarke knows, on a basic level, that she hardly knows him, but all she can think is _finally_.

 

 

+1

Clarke is running late.

Like, _really_ late.

Bellamy is going to be crushed. He’d made the reservation over a month ago, and he hadn’t let her forget it. He’s reminded her multiple times, and he even put a calendar event in her phone.

But her phone is dead, she’d accidentally stayed too late at work, and there’s an accident on the highway.

When she finally arrives, she bursts into the restaurant, apology on her lips, but to her surprise, it’s empty.

Well, almost empty.

Clarke knows she’s late, but she’s not _that_ late.

Bellamy is sitting alone at a table in the middle, spinning his fork between his fingers. There are candles, and wine, and it hits her then that Bellamy reserved the entire restaurant. And she ruined it. It makes her want to cry.

He looks up at her when she enters the dining area, and relief washes over his features.

“I’m so sorry,” she starts. “My phone is dead, there was an accident. I didn’t know—“ she gestures to the empty restaurant. “I’m just sorry.”

Bellamy stands and tucks a stray hair behind her ear. “It’s okay,” he says. “You’re here now.”

He pulls out her chair and she sits. “What’s all this about?” she asks. “You’re even wearing a tie.”

It’s been a long time since she’s seen Bellamy nervous, but she doesn’t miss the flush on his cheeks or the way he rubs the back of his neck. He doesn’t move to sit down either, so Clarke is sitting, eyebrows raised, while he stands awkwardly beside her.

He glances down at her, questioning, and she smiles, because duh—she loves him.

“Fuck it,” he mutters, and then he’s on one knee in front of her.

How did she not see this coming?

“Yes,” she blurts, and she grabs his face and pulls him to her, kissing the smile right off his lips.

“You didn’t even let me get the ring out,” he says into the kiss. “Or even ask.”

She doesn’t stop smiling. “So ask.”

He pulls away, just long enough to get the ring out of his jacket pocket and present it to her. “I had a speech, for the record,” he says. “but I really don’t remember it right now. So, Clarke, I love you. Will you marry me?”

“Yes,” she says again, with equal enthusiasm. He slips the ring on her finger and kisses her again, soft and sweet and she can’t believe she almost ruined this.

“There was dinner,” he says between kisses, “but I think it’s cold now.”

Clarke chuckles. “I’m not hungry anyway.”

“Good,” he says, and then her hauls her to her feet, grabbing her hand and dragging her outside.

They grab a taxi and make out in the back seat, and just like the first night, they barely make it to their apartment.

This time, though, she stays. 


End file.
